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“Sure, you tell yourself that. Whatever keeps that commitment phobia at bay.”
“Hey, I’m not commitment-shy!”
“Really? Then why are you pretending you and Harley are not in a relationship when you sleep together every night and he’s not looked at another girl since he met you?”
“Because…” I spluttered. “Ugh! Whatever, I have an essay to write.” I ignored his stupid smirking face and slammed my notebook down. He was wrong. Harley and I were not in a relationship. It was just casual…wasn’t it?
Honestly, I had no idea. We hadn’t had a conversation about it. No lines had been drawn. He didn’t seem the relationship type, but then us sharing a bed all the time tended to suggest it was more than a hookup.
Did I want more?
I wasn’t sure it was safe to want more.
???
I hated flying. Always had. Ever since Dad had taken me on vacation when I was five and we’d hit turbulence over the Atlantic. I’d thrown up everywhere. The memory of the plane dropping like a stone while people all around me screamed stuck with me. It was completely irrational to be afraid of flying when statistically speaking, it was the safest mode of transport, but fear was a primal response. I couldn’t help it.
“Are you OK?” Harley asked, looking a bit worried at my pale, clammy face.
“I’ll be fine. I’m not a great flyer is all.”
His face relaxed. “Ah, well maybe once we get into the air I can distract you,” he smirked, sliding his hand up my denim-clad thigh.
“Hey, I’m sitting right here!” grumbled Quinn. He dropped the in-flight magazine and glared at his friend.
“And?”
“I’m not sitting here while you two hit second base under the blanket. That’s just cruel.”
“Feel free to join in,” Harley teased. “I’m sure Stella won’t mind.”
“Hey! Enough! There are kids on this plane!”
The two of them huffed and scowled at each other until a hostess called Melanie, according to her artfully pinned name tag, appeared to take our drinks order. Her eyes slid appreciatively over both Quinn and Harley, before losing interest when she finally noticed me. Yeah. Fuck you, bitch.
“Would y’all like a drink?” Her sexy southern accent was oh-so seductive, and I felt like punching her in the boob. That would have been a mistake, however, as they were clearly fake as fuck. The last thing I needed was a battery lawsuit for a burst implant on top of my other woes.
“Three bourbons over ice, please.” Quinn’s tone was polite but disinterested. She licked her plump red lips and leaned forward invitingly. I didn’t love the way her fake books pressed against his bicep.
A growl threatened to leap out of my throat and I swallowed hard. What the fuck? Quinn wasn’t my guy. He was a friend. Kind of. If he felt like banging Melanie in the bathroom, I had no right to stop him.
Ugh.
“Any snacks?” Melanie asked while focusing 100% of her attention on Quinn and Harley, the subtext being she was available for any and all ‘snacking’ if my guys were hungry.
“No, thanks,” I growled. “No snacks.”
“Well if you change your mind, just press the bell,” she cooed, throwing another flirty smile in Harley’s direction, even though his hand was resting on my thigh and it was pretty fucking obvious we were together.
Quinn leaned away from her. “Nah, we’re good. Just fetch the drinks, yeah?”
Melanie pouted a little before sashaying away.
The only upside to the interaction was I’d completely forgotten to feel sick and afraid. It turned out jealousy was a great cure for fear of flying. Who knew?
Chapter 57
Harley
